A dream coming true
by Cadaver Carnivorum
Summary: A teenage American "Baby Bat" girl finds herself in her own fanfic in the heroine's place, surrounded by fingermen. Fortunately she is rescued by V... This cliche anti-mary-sue fun-fiction is not recommended for touchy teenagers with no sense of humor.
1. Prologue

**_Author's note:_**_ When I become fed-up with fanfics, I digest them and then relieve my ghoulish nature, leaving parodies. So here is one. Warning: I mock only at drawbacks, not at goths, American teenagers or people with mentioned names and pen names, so there is no need to take offence in case of coincidence._

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I do not own anything I mock at and do not need to. Although I mock at everything but V, I do not own him too. Quite the contrary, V owns us all. He owns our minds as well as any other fixed idea does. Mwa-ha-haa!_

* * *

"Having left the house, my way went to the outskirts of the city. There, in the cellar of an abandoned house, midnight sharp an underground gothic party was to start. I made my way through yards and side streets, trying to avoid the alleys. Because you have to be absolutely nuts not to know that the alleys were haunted by fingermen.

I did not fear fingermen much, though. If I bump into them by chance, I'll surely make a couple bite the dust. Although I didn't have real weapons, my high patent-leather black very heavy steel-heeled Greenders could make a neat substitute. I spend time not only partying but also secretly learning kickboxing. And Karate, of course. And I also wore black leather gloves with fingers cut which had massive steel spikes like brass knuckles, and chains and heaps of different jewelry were woven into the locks of my long (knee-length) ravenblack hair, so they looked like battle flails.

I walked firmly and with confidence, my long (heel-lenght) black leather coat flying in the wind while I was walking swiftly. Silver jewelry on my neck were sparkling in the lights of the dim street lamps and jingled quietly. His Infernal Majesty Ville Valo's sweet voice sang in my headphones and I sang along in a low voice…"

Thin fingers, strewn with rings of all sizes and kinds, clasped the mouse and clicked it – a new window of the state-of-the-art version of Internet Explorer emerged on the wide monitor.

Fingernails, covered with black varnish, tapped on the keys of the glittery black red-lighted keyboard: "The funeral of hearts lyrics", and Google promptly found the text of her beloved song in the depths of the Internet. The author decided to enrich her work with it (apparently, with some didactic purpose), but was too lazy to type it by herself, and thus resorted to the services оf "Copy&Paste". She finished this little but important ritual and then continued her narration.

"And suddenly, in a narrow side street ahead, I saw three men…"

- Three? Mmm… wouldn't that be too few? – drawled the girl thoughtfully, scratching her ebony, recently dyed hair and leaning on the back of the chair. – If I… I mean, she… will fight fiercely, and she cannot fight any other way, she'll take all three for a ride, and V won't have to save her. And there shouldn't be too many, or they'll seize her all together, and she won't be able to show him how strong and brave she is. Well, let's make it five…

And she leaned over the keyboard to change "three" to "five", and then again rested her back against the chair and stared fixedly into the ceiling as if hoping to see there an answer to her next question: "What shall the fingermen's remark be, when they catch sight of the heroine?"

- If they say nothing, this'll seem unnatural. If they say something saucy, it'll be just it, but the rating will leap higher than "T"…

Pondering in this manner, this lean fourteen year old creature, clad in a black nightgown, all gothy laces, rocked in the chair. Half an hour ago, when she was about to go to bed, a totally unexpected swarm of muses flew upon her and dragged to the computer to write another fanfic. Unfortunately, no inspiration could spare her an eternal creative impediment: the maid of letters was completely at a loss when it came to depicting actions, behaviour and, the more so, speech of those less important characters which did not have the great honor to be known as the heroine.

At last a worthy thought, like a long-awaited guest, paid a visit into the cranial vaults of the girl. She rocked properly one last time, tried to reach for the keyboard – but suddenly lost her balance and toppled over on the floor together with the chair, helplessly waving her hands in the air. She could have got away with a loud crash heard all over the house and a light scare, had not the wooden crosspiece in the head of the bed perfidiously got into the way of the back of her head…


	2. Names count for first impressions

- Look, what a cutie-pie has gotten right into our hands! – the girl heard through the ear tingle. Unsticking her eyes, she saw silhouettes of several men leaned over her through the dim flocks of dark mist dancing in her eyes.

"It is exactly what I was about to write", - she thought, astonished.

Meanwhile the chiming in her head went silent, the eye-mist was torn and blown away by the piercing autumn wind, her back felt the cold touch of the wet pavement. The dim light of a street lamp snatched out from the darkness rough features of five faces, one and all expressing lusty, malicious joy.

Although the girl refused to believe her eyes, body and even nose, assaulted by a strong odor of sweat and alcohol, her instinct of self-protection made her raise herself a little and crawl back like a swift cuttlefish.

- Where are we going? – the sturdiest of the fingermen said in a drunk, deep voice and advanced at the girl, slightly bending his torso and stretching his snatchy paws. She stared at the approaching bulk with eyes wide with shock and took great pains to seize and bring back the remains of the joyful excitement, fervent anger and breathtaking adrenaline that had been crowding in her breast in anticipation of the description of the battle, but now were galloping away, giving way to paralyzing fear which a prey feels in the claws of a predator. The girl threw up her leg quickly in an attempt to hit the offender in the groin, but the kick, weak as it was, was softened by the sole of a fluffy slipper a pair of which – holy terror! – she was wearing instead of steel-heeled "Grinders". The man grabbed her by the ankle, which made her lose her slipper and balance and fall down with a short shriek.

Hopeless despair filled her soul, the cherished dreams turned into ashes, her pride blazed up in an excruciating flame. Has justice completely vanished from the world, does such an inglorious end await her?..

The fingermen roared in a rough, raucous guffaw – which left unheard the silent whiz of air slashed by a blade. The attacker's face suddenly changed: the vile grin twisted into a grimace of pain, the jeeringly screwed pig-like eyes bulged widely. The girl could hardly crawl aside when he swayed and collapsed slowly on her. A knife handle stuck out of his fat neck slightly lower than the back of his head.

When she regained her senses, most of the offenders were already lying on the ground. The thought that she had to look brave and fight made her spring up to her feet and poke a couple of times into the side of one of the agonizing bodies with her bare heel.

- I do understand the evil they have inflicted upon you and the hatred you must feel towards them – but I strongly recommend you not to follow their example and bring dishonour upon yourself with such an unworthy deed as beating a helpless person.

- V!!!! – cried the girl in hysterical ecstasy. She wished to leap at him and hang on his neck, but instead limped towards him trying to limit the contact of her bare, mollycoddled foot with the cold rocky pavement.

- Have I already introduced myself? – there was a faint note of surprise in the masked vigilante's voice.

The girl made an effort to swallow the yell "I'm your very biggest fan!!!" that was ready to escape her lips and mumbled hesitatingly:

- I'm… err… a psychic!

- Well… - V answered not without irony, courteously handing her the lost slipper, – in that case, I beg your pardon that this element of attire common within your circle is now somewhat soiled.

- I-it's ok… - she mumbled, putting the slipper back in place, its fluffy black fur sticky with somebody's blood, an abundance of which was glittering around. Only now, slowly recovering from shock, she noticed she was still wearing the nightgown, a lonely aluminum ankh dangling on her neck. "Oh, shit! – she thought, in despair. – Not only I haven't changed a bit, I'm even neither made-up nor dressed appropriately! Oh, why couldn't I have thought beforehand? I could have put on the skin-tight leather pants, the new black rose blouse, the foam-rubbered bra, the jewelry… he'd like that dagger-shaped pendant… powder the pimples, after all!"

- It's not an attire… I ran away from home… - she started babbling out excuses desperately. – The fingermen came… suddenly, they seized my parents, and I ran away…

- If you could foresee it, why didn't you dress beforehand? – V inquired.

- My gift is still weak…

- Anyway, we have to hurry, – he claimed resolutely. - Lead me to your house – we might be in time to free them.

- I got lost! – the girl whimpered as believably as she could, – and they are already dead, I can feel it…

- I regret your loss. – V sighed and took off his hat as a sign of sorrow. – May I know the name of the young lady whose grief I shall have to avenge?

- My name is… Victoria. – said the girl. In real life she bore a very prosaic and not even containing a single "v" name "Jenny" and that's why decided to introduce herself by her pen name. And it was absolutely unnecessary for V to know that it actually was "victory666".

- This magnificent name is a perfect match for you, – V couldn't help paying a courteous compliment to this. – I dare hope you shall not refuse me the grace of escorting you to a forthcoming concert! Be my muse, Victoria!

The "muse" nodded vigorously. At any other time these compliments would plunge her into ecstatic rapture, but now, standing in the cold November wind wearing only her nightgown she could only tremble like an aspen leaf. V threw off his cape and covered her bare bony shoulders with it in a caring manner.

- Ladies first, – V uttered, gesturing invitingly at the emergency stairs.

The first crosspiece of the stairs was on the level of Victoria's chest. The girl seized the cold metal and made a futile attempt to pull herself up. She wished to show she was worth something, although getting a C in physical training had always been a heroic deed for her. V picked her up by the arms and lifted her like a bit of fluff.

"I'll climb first and flash my panties, - she giggled mentally. - But... damn! I'll feel giddy! He'll think I am a coward and shave my head like he did to that blonde. How awful will I look when bold!.."

Victoria started climbing slowly, desperately thinking of another ruse. Several stairs later a plan was born in her head at last. Point one, drop a slipper. Point two, believably tremble from head to toe. Point three... no, it was too scary to fall, even into his secure embrace!

Luckily, she did not have to put point three into effect.

- Why didn't you warn me beforehand? - V shook his head, taking the girl from the ladder. - I hope you'll have the force to hold to my back.

Her heart was writhing and quivering like a bird in a cage. Seizing V's steel shoulders in a death grip, she was clinging to his torso, feeling his strong back muscles moving with all her body. She could listen to his measured breath muffled by the mask, gently placing her head on his shoulder; she could inhale the delicate, heady fragrance of his cologne, burying her face in the silky wig; she could even move a trifle the foot of her leg embracing his waist and, as if unintentionally, touch what she had dreamed of... she could, were she not entirely taken by unaccountable fear of heights.

Victoria stood on the roof, cozily wrapped in the warm cape, and apathetically surveyed the dark London stretched out below, Justice's gloomy silhouette and the back of V, who was engrossed in conducting. She was pondering which of her favourite songs would do better here instead of this, in her opinion, too noisy and cheerful work of some Pole or even - worse than that - Russian. A deafening explosion made her start and lose her train of thought.

- How do you find my début, Victoria?

- Cool, - the "muse" shrugged her shoulders and yawned.

- I see that Morpheus is ready to welcome you into his embrace. May I invite you to my humble abode?

"Why would the black dude from "Matrix" embrace me?" - the girl thought, puzzled.


	3. In Rome do as Goths do

Victoria was not in the least surprised when she woke up and found the table covered with different cosmetic accessories and the wardrobe, which had been empty the day before - choked up with dresses. Quite the contrary, bewilderment and indignation would overcome her if V wouldn't turn out to be so provident.

So the girl dedicated all morning to bringing herself, so to say, into salable condition. She plastered her pimple-blossomed snout so thoroughly that it was matching a mask in its smoothness and overall perfection; she penciled her eyes thoroughly and covered almost all the upper part of her face with an elaborate lancet pattern; she made her thin lips bloom like scarlet roses (after she'd vainly rummaged through the table in search of black lipstick). She spent much time choosing perfume and at last douched herself with a cologne the name of which seemed the most gothy to her. She nestled in her hair the biggest rose from a bunch standing beside , completed her image with little and elegant, although a bit pinching patent-leather shoes, gave her reflection a satisfied look and went to breakfast. Surely, following her rich experience on seducing the masked vigilante, drawn from the multitude of fanfics she'd read, she remained in her nightgown.

- Good morning, Victoria, – V said affably, not deflecting from the stove, as soon as the girl stepped over the threshold. - It seems to me you were so dazzled by the variety of your new wardrobe that you could not make a final choice? - he added ironically.

- Exactly so, – Victoria assented, trying to crack a grateful smile and at the same time unwittingly biting her lip in frustration. She sat at the table and crossed her legs so that the nightgown's hem, as if by accident, would show the most of her skinny legs.

- Your talent in disguise make-up is breathtaking indeed, – V continued in the same tone, – although, due to the absence of any outside persons whatsoever in the gallery there is no necessity in that. If your stealth is a matter of principle, I could let you use a spare mask.

- It's not disguise. We, true goths, have such style. - Victoria was going to utter it in a somewhat offended tone, but, starting such an important topic, couldn't help but puff up. - We wear only black, we suffer from loneliness and lack of understanding, we revere night and death... - at this point a plate appeared in front of the girl with a dish known to everyone lying on it. This made her commit a little sacrilege: she uttered the last words with her mouth full.

- So you think you are the chosen descendants of an ancient Germanic barbarian tribe? - V hemmed, probably making use of the fact that the girl was unable to answer but only gazed at him in some offended bewilderment. - But may I inquire why, revering death, you wear on your neck an Egyptian symbol of eternal life and fertility.

Victoria almost choked and dropped her fork.

- Oh shit! - she swore quietly, bending down to reach it under the table. Not quiet enough, though, for V's delicate hearing.

- I understand your pride for your national cultural and especially language values*, - he uttered in such a tone, as if he were frowning a bit, cocking his head habitually, - but don't you find it improper not only to bring them to Rome, as the proverb says, but demonstrate them at table? - after a pause V, most likely addressing himself, added indulgently:

- But is there any sense in telling a Goth how to behave in Rome?

"I'd never have thought he could lecture me like mom does!" - with such a gloomy thought the girl sulked and on principle kept grave silence till the end of the meal.

When Victoria noticed V striding resolutely along the corridor in his hat an adjusting his explosive belt, she stated on her clairvoyant's rights that she was going to the TV tower with him, because else the mission would inevitably have a deplorable result. Leaving behind the details of their way (in her uncomfortable if beautiful high-heeled shoes the girl moved slowly; she also, as you know, was notable for complete lack of physical endurance... in general, there's no need to say how greatly she slowed V down) and the broadcast, which has been known for long and would most probably be dull for the reader, we shall get right to the crucial moment of this adventure.

The girl was standing behind the detective who was holding V at gunpoint and was desperately trying to fight the unexpected indecision.

«Now! Go, you must! - Victoria cheered up herself, clutching in her sweaty little palm the handle of a big knife she'd snatched in the kitten and hidden in the folds of her black silk dress. - Are you not a bloodthirsty predator but a cowardly blonde? Show him your devotion! Or else he'll despise you or... he'll be shot!" - with such fatalistic thoughts she was trying to blow up the adrenaline fire of decisiveness that started to fade quickly as soon as her devoted dreams collided with reality. She stuck the knife ahead of her like a spear, snatched the wrist of her right hand with her left hand so that the former would not tremble, closed her eyes tight and rushed forward in a hit-or-miss fashion. A desperate shriek right above her head and something warm streaming down her hands made the girl sure that she did hit. Still not opening her eyes she seized Dominick's clothes with her left hand and, getting furious, stabbed him several more times.

The man's cries following every stab were so pitiful, and his face expressed such painful, genuine suffering, that V felt sorry for him and mercifully cut his throat. The girl, still seizing at the corpse's clothes, lost her balance and fell down together with it.

- How ruthless you are, Victoria, - she heard, raising herself from the corpse a little with an effort and feeling the blood-soaked silk stick to her body with a strange mixture of primal exultation and squeamish disgust. - Even I, a desperate vigilante and a cold-blooded killer, wouldn't even think of slaying my enemy by stabbing methodically his liver and kidneys with a kitchen knife.

At last Victoria dared to open her eyes. "Have I really done it?.." - she thought, gazing in dumb perplexity at the blooded knife she was still clutching in her hand, rough, voluminously bleeding cuts at the corpse's waist, her own dress and hands, all covered in blood. The nauseating smell and fatigue made her feel dizzy, dark circles started swimming before her eyes, and she fell back on the corpse, fainting.

Slowly floating from the dark depths of unconsciousness, Victoria felt on her back, at her shoulder-blades, soft touches of warm leather fingers. Breathing free, the girl understood with sweetly sinking heart: these fingers had just loosened her corset (she had been made to put it on and lace it tight by her perpetual phobia of appearing fat).

Yes, she was lying on a bed, and V was sitting at her side and, holding her shoulder a bit lifted for comfort, was delicately unlacing her corset... "He is feeling very shy – Victoria thought competently. - It's even surprising that he's decided already... I should hint him that everything's ok, go on... but carefully, or I'd scare him off..."

The girl produced the most languishing sigh she could, and a sweetest smile blossomed on her face. She slowly opened her eyes and looked into the mysterious darkness of the eye sockets of the mask with a tender submissiveness, as if telling "I'm yours..."

Noticing this, V carefully put her back on her pillow and said:

- I'm happy that you did not think anything nasty and that a free breath was enough for you to regain your senses. Otherwise, however regrettable it may be, I'd have to resort to such in every respect unpleasant means as ammonia spirit.

The smile was wiped off Victoria's face.

- I'll prepare a bath for you, – V continued in a calm voice without even a hint of passion. - Leave the dress in the bathroom – it needs thorough cleaning.

"Probably dried blood simply does not arose him," - the girl decided, turning her eyes to the door behind which V had just disappeared.

Secluded in this temple of cleanness, laid with white and black marble, Victoria first dragged off the dress, which had unpleasantly dried to her skin in some parts, and secondly – reached for the place where she hoped to find an answer to the question torturing practically all the Vendetta fangirls**. That is, into the underwear basket.

To Victoria's frustration, there was no answer there. There wasn't anything at all there. "Look how diffident he is!" - the girl giggled, pulling everything else off and making the basket not so painfully empty. She asked herself what she would change into but than waved it off: it is well-known that for successful seduction one has to stop wearing something under her nightie at some point – and the fact that this moment had come so soon was not a reason to worry.

Victoria sank into the fragrant foam, that immediately turned from white to tender pink, and started examining the orderly rows of vials and bottles on a corner shelf. Trying to find out by comparing the amount of contents, which shampoo and bath foam V preferred – strawberry, rose, jasmine or something else from the arsenal present – she only became sure V preferred variety.

Closing her eyes blissfully, she pictured to herself V, half-lying opposite her in the foamy spaces of the enormous bathtub, flaccidly leaning his wide, sturdy back to its edge and serenely stretching his smooth, muscular arms along the boards. "And what if he turns out to be all burnt and eyeless, just like some mean envious creeps like to thrust under our noses to spoil our mood?***" - the girl suddenly thought, annoyed, and stubbornly shook her head, shoving off the reddish, scab-covered apparition. Finally she calmed herself with the thought that se was in the forld of her fanfic where behind the porcelain mask there was a blue-eyed hadsome man with fresh and smooth skin that had replaced the burnt one. A very exacting reader would ask Victoria why she didn't base her fic on the comics if the movie version of V didn't suit her. It is known that in the comic book not only the burnt hands aren't mentioned, but even V's face, if we believe the dying doctor, is beautiful. The answer is simple: our heroine simply didn't read the comics.

Your humble servant could describe how Victoria washed herself, wrapped herself in a towel, went to her room (dreaming of bumping into V in the corridor), dressed and so on, but does not find it necessary to wear down his respectable reader with such prosaic description of daily life.****

* Both the author and the translator tried to make Victoria sound American. It is for you to judge if they were successful.

** (the author waves to Miss Cullen and Lady Nightlord, grinning cheerfully)

*** A hint on the author's good self and the fanfic "Behind the mask"

**** ...like some fanfiction writers do


End file.
